In the topologically unstable suburb of Lower Upper Middle Thought, there exists a building that only appears when no one’s looking for it. It’s a squat, confused-looking structure with an architectural style best described as beige regret . This is the headquarters of the Department of Inconvenient Enlightenment , a bureaucratic backwater tasked with discovering Truth — but only the sort that makes people wince slightly. The Department’s most prominent (and indeed only) employee was a man named Clive Marbles. Clive had the sort of face that looked like it had been quietly disappointed by most sandwiches, and a walk that suggested he was always just about to explain something tedious about printer settings. Clive had one tremendous strength: he was brilliant at identifying other people’s mistakes. He once won an award for pointing out a typo in the preamble to the Universal Declaration of Consensus. He was the reason most toaster instruction manuals now include the phrase “Do not attem...
The Written Word Group in association with Bar Esperanza are proud to present: A Night of Music, Story Telling & Poetry. Date: Thursday 14th May 2026 - 5pm Location: Bar Esperanza Avenida Andalucía, La Alfoquía (next to / junto a Arboleas Oil gas station) Contact: 642 52 21 01 (To book a table) Expectations: High This Story & Music Night, is about connection: between voices and listeners, between memory and imagination, between the stories we share and the music that we carry within us. A storyteller isn't just a narrator—they're our oldest guides . In ancient Ireland, they were as valued as kings, and ever since those first campfires were lit at the dawn of time, they’ve been our teachers, our entertainers, who nudge the world toward change. Each performer brings a little piece of their own journey, and hopefully together we’ll shape something that only exists here in this place at this time at this moment. May you hear a poem that stays with you, a son...
Do you play chess? Do you remember when you learned to play? I do. I was about fifteen, living with my parents and my sisters sharing the same room in the Hotel Rich. The hotel was well-known by Chilean refugees in Buenos Aires. The accomodation and food was provided by the Hotel and the U.N paid the costs. The Hotelier, Pipi provided food for us, but as most businessmen he cut corners to make more profit in the food and cleanliness. When I think about it now, the food was so bad I wouldn't even feed my dog that food. Those three long years; that period of our lives I wouldn't call it living, I'd call it existing, we felt we were in an Abyss. Time went slowly back then, no schooling for my sisters or me and my parents weren't allowed to work. We received from the UN, a monthly stipend as a family to spend it on essentials such as clothes and toiletries. Mum kept control of the money we received, and on the odd...
The guilty bishop met his death in the disappointed abbess.
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ReplyDeleteIs this the same Abyss Nite Club my boyzz own?
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